Long time, no update.  I don’t think I can be bothered doing this secret diary of adrian mole crap where I spout on and on about my life.  Then again, the narcissist in me says I can, and so I will…

So, Charlotte is in Nelson for this last week of the school holidays and arrives home tomorrow.  It’s Saturday and Charlotte’s not home - once upon a time this would have meant something. Like, going out and getting shit-faced.  Now being the boring fart I am, it simply means junk food for dinner and whatever’s on telly.  Besides, I’m broke.  My car failed it’s WOF over some trivial little brakes issue.  Guess I’ll be taking the work van to the airport tomorrow…

What else? Oh, I remembered today how once upon a time, my mother and I wished my step-father dead.  Mum was pissed that it had been his turn to mow the lawns for months and he wouldn’t do it, and she was generally unhappy and wishing him dead, and had come over to my place to get away from it all.  She said, “I wish he’d just bloody well die.”  To which I replied, “hey you never know, maybe he will.”  Then, two days later he did.  He died.

While mowing the lawns.

Seems Death has a biting wit.

Anyway, this nugget of recollection forced it’s way out of the blue and into my conscience today, and I cried because of it.  Guilt and all.  Only what, three and a half years later?  Talk about delayed reaction.  (Talk about ‘issues’…)

I can’t speak for mum, but I never really meant it.  Not literally.

And that, my dears, is that.